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Copy 1 

— Princess 
and 
The Fool 



Flora Watrous Thomas 



The Princess 

and 

The Fool 




COPYRIGHT 1922 
ALL FOREIGN RIGHTS RESERVED 

Flora Watrous Thomas 
Pittsburgh, Pa. 



C1A604007 

KG 16 '22 






.rw^ 



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The Princess and The Fool 

A Romantic Ballad of the Middle Ages 

PROLOGUE 

In northern wilds, in years long past, 
A kingdom lay, great, fair and vast; 
Where lived a king, both brave and braw. 
Who fought o'er much on ''Border Law." 
By mountain steep, by sea or plain, 
His legions fought with all who came 
Unheralded. Those who would dare 
This mighty King — death found them there. 

A princess, fairer than the sun, 
Whose hand no prince had ever won, 
Make glad this King's relax-ed hours 
In "Castle Hall" or garden bowers. 
So now the story must be told 
In song and verse. The theme is old. 
The whole wide world is but the school 
To teach: "We can not love by rule." 



Part One 



THE CAPTIVE 



The "Border" strife was quickly won, 
And gathered in the evening sun 
Are foes and victors. As they wait 
The opening of the castle-gate, 
The sun's bright gleam on armor'd steel. 
The spur's loud clank from rowel-wheel. 
Strike dread and awe to the captives' ear; 
They fear — and know not what they fear. 

The vanquished foe', with heavy tread. 
Are pushed and pulled or roughly led 
O'er bfidge and moat, through portal wide, 
As in the court the victors ride. 
The noisome cell for some await 
Scarce caring what shall be their fate ; 
And some— ah ! some with ling' ring sigh, 



Will thank dear Heaven they can but die. 

The King rides on in stately pride 

With knights and page on either side ; 

Then pauses as if deep in thought, 

As if in vain the answer sought; 

He wheels about and face to face 

Now scans the vast and crowded place, 

Nor stirred not from this grim survey 

Till darkness o'er the courtyard lay. 

The great carved doors are all flung wide 

And armor'd men in state preside — 

Like statues more than anything — 

To wait the pleasure of the King, 

Till when, at last, the inspection o'er, 

He rides within the open door. 

But one there is 'mong the captive foes 
Stands quite aloof, whose courtly pose 
Gains condescension, for the King 
Has noticed him and bids them bring 
This captive to the Castle Hall. 

All 



Of the pride of ancient race 

Is shown by poise of head; his face 

Is but the index of his heart — 

The King may slay but knozv him not! 



THE FOOL 



The Castle Hall with lights aglow 
On carven knights, with spear or bow, 
Who from their nooks look blankly down 
On royal state and kingly frown. 
Each courtier round the royal throne 
Quakes in his heart and fears to own 
Himself the victim on whom first 
The kingly mood and wrath may burst. 



While thus the lords both quake and fear, 



A martial sound falls on the ear ; 
The clank of spur on marble floor, 
The thud of feet by studded door ; 
And up the Hall by captors pressed 
A youth is led — who is possessed 
Of fearless eye, and noble mien, 
And who before the mighty King 
Stops still with looks calm and serene. 



The courtiers round the Hall await 
With careless hearts the captive's fate; 
And watch with thoughtless eye the mood 
In which the kinglv mind might brood 
With evil ire ; but the captive guest 
Inspires respect in the royal breast. 
"How now, ye minions, dare ye bring 
A, captive bound before this King!" 
The scathing words scarce die away 
Ere band and chain between them lay. 
"Who art thou, knave, that with a band 
Of fellow knaves fight on my land? 
Dost seek some fancied wrong to right 



Which I — the King! in royal might 
Have claimed is just? How dare ye fight 
Within my state!" But firm and cool 
The answer: "Sire, / am a fool," 



"A fool? Ha! knave, dost care to die? 
Canst jest with such a King as I? 
"A fool's prerogatives, O sire. 
Are jest and repartee; the lyre 
For song and pastime's gentle mood - " 
''Go!" roars the King, ''and bring the hood 
And suit of motley. Until he tells 
Whence he doth come, the cap and bells 
Shall him adorn. Go, too, and bring 
The lyre - I fain would hear him sing." 



The motions of the royal hand 
Disperse the soldiers. Courtiers stand 
About the "Fool" - their fears forgot 
In glee o'er this strange captive's lot. 
Scarce does the sound of martial tread 



In passing cease, ere there are spread 

The suit of glaring stripes of red 

And hood with bells before them all. 

A shout of mirth rings through the Hall 

As page and courtier work the change 

That makes a handsome youth look strange. 

The King looks on in pleased surprise, 
Amazement gleams from courtier's eyes, 
As forward steps with courtly grace, 
A jester gay with rougish face. 
"Thou wearest well, my lordly knave. 
The clothes of one who's in the grave. 
Now take the lyre and tune the strings. 
Fain would I hear how my fool sings." 



THE PRINCESS 



One knee he bends before the throne, 
On the other was the lyre upborne; 
They list in hushed expectancy 
What e'er the singer's song may be; 
A sweep of chords - the walls resound - 
A master hand the lyre had found; 
An upward glance - the song forgot ! 
For, with a wildly throbbing heart, 
There bursts upon his wondering sight 
A maiden fair - as rare and bright 
As morning sun on shades of night. 



She glances at each bowing knight, 
But gazes longer at the sight 
That meets her eyes at foot of throne 
With lyre upheld as if to sing 
The praises of this mighty King, 
A fool whose eyes compel her own. 
''Who is he? What is he?" her heart 



In fluttering: silence asks. "Yes, what?" 



The King, in pompous, stately pride, 
Receives and seats her at his side. 
"Now strike the lyre, the sound prolong. 
For we would listen to thy song, 
O knave and fool ! The Princess here 
Would have thee sing of love, but I 
Of war's keen strife and those who die 
For glory. Make thy choice, nor fear 
My anger ; it matters not to me 
If song is all a song should be." 

With eyes alight with inward fire, 
He strikes the chords which now inspire 
A greater theme than war's alarms, 
Or soldier's death, or call to arms. 
A moment's pause - then on the ear 



His voice rings rich, and full, and clear; 

The love-words so impassion him 

That e*en the King's cold eyes grow dim. 



Of love and war the songs are sung. 
The lyre is mute. The walls, which rung 
A moment since with music's charm, 
Are silent now. A wondrous calm 
Is o'er the King. The Princess lies 
Back in her chair and softly sighs - 
A light of glory in her eyes. 
The King bestirs him from his trance, 
The "Fool" is worth his maintenance. 
"Here, page, my fool must rest and sup, 
So take the lyre and fill the cup." 



End of Part One 



Part Two 

A Week Later 
THE GARDEN 

The morning sun in splendor shines 
On flow'rs and shrubs; on clinging vines 
And lofty trees, where fountains play 
Their merry tunes in feathery spray; 
While statues gleam from shaded nooks, 
And bridges span the tumbling brooks 
Which feed the fountains' gentle flow, 
Then wander on through banks where grow 
The wilder blooms; while marble steps, 
O'erhung with vines of glowing depths, 
Lead down to where a lake is seen 
Midst amber light and shaded green. 
More lovely yet in moonbeam's ray 
Than in the brilliant light of day. 



The roses in the garden swing 
Their blushing faces, as they cling, 
And spread their rich and sweet perfume 
To mingle with the lillies' bloom. 
Within a bower by sun caressed, 
Where roses dense are closely pressed 
In clustering groups, and breezes blow 
A richer scent to those below, 
The Princess sits, her face alight 
While listening to the Fool recite 
His ardent verse. His mellow voice 
Makes all within her heart rejoice; 
As if in some Elysian dream 
She listens to love's rapt'rous theme. 
Then, with her hand pressed to her heart, 
She whispers: ''Tell me who thou art? 
Thou art not what thou seemst to be, 
Come, tell just what thou art — to me?" 



He takes the lyre and softly sings 
In answer to her questionings : 



"To thee? Bright star, if I but dare! 
Should we a mighty secret share, 
My task would be far, far too sweet 
To lay what's hidden at thy feet. 
Thou knowest not what thou dost ask 
Of me - yet how sublime the task, 
If I but dare!— If I but dare! 

"To thee? Bright sunbeam of the air. 

The world would be most wondrous fair, 

If I could tell the hidden pain, 

The joy, the woe. Thou wouldst disdain 

To listen to so crude a tale, 

And all my art could not avail - 

If I but dare! -If I but dare!" 



Scarce does she breathe - so low the song, 

That barely to her ears 'tis borne; 

She hides her glowing face between 

Some hanging roses, as a screen. 

She lifts a rose from off her breast. 

Where 'neath her hand 'twas closely pressed, 



Then, crushing out the perfume sweet 
She flings it, dying, at his feet. 
The fading rose is held aloft, 
And in a voice both clear and soft 
He chants again a wondrous lay 
That steals her very soul away. 



"Dear heart, the faded rose I hold— 

A rose so pure and dear to me — 
To some deep recess of my soul 

It breathes a message, love, from thet 
The rose that withered on thy breast 

I clasp within my hands and sigh: 
'O, rose, thou wert too fondly blest 

To rest upon her heart and die - ' 

My rose, my lovely rose. 

"I press the rose close to my lips — 

And breathe a prayer to Heaven for grace- 
Its petals soothe my soul and spread 

Their ling'ring fragrance o'er my face. 
To me a fadeless rose thou art. 



Thy memory a sacred shrine; 
I kiss the rose and on my heart 
I lay it down, thou rose divine - 

My rose, my lovely rose".' 



A silence lies so deep and still 

That all her senses leap and thrill 

To his superb, magnetic will. 

At length she goes, without a word, 

Too strangely and too deeply stirred 

To say farewell. She leaves him where 

The roses' perfume scent the air. 



'^Music by Charles Wakefield Cadman. 
'Published by Oliver Ditson Co. 



THE SERENADE 



The goddess of the evening sky 
Remounts her starry throne on high, 
And throws her brilhant, silver gleams 
On lake and dell, and flowing streams; 
The nightingale sings to the night 
Where hedges gleam in silvery light; 
About the garden's moonlit glades 
The flowers throw dew-laden shades, 
And odors, richer than in day, 
Float out on night's illumined way. 



Within the strong, old castle tower. 
Where rests the Princess in her bower, 
The strangely, witching, midnight hour 
Finds her awake ; her thought is deep - 
How shall this end? The moonbeams creep 
Through climbing vines and softly peep. 
Upon her couch the Princess lies. 



Her trembling form so racked with sighs 

That tears bedim her sleepless eyes. 

While her young heart in sorrow beats, 

A melody her spirit greets, 

As out upon the night is borne 

A voice — his voice — in love's sweet song: 



"May thy dreams be, oh gentle flower. 
As radiant bright as on thy bower 
The brilliant beams shine from above; 
So dream of this bright world of love. 
So dream of this bright world of love. 



"Bright lies the land where thy dreams be; 
By dreamland shore, dream thou of me. 
Where we may wander o'er the strand - 
So dream of me in thy dreamland, 
So dream of me in thy dreamland. 



"I sing to thee, in these bright beams, 
Of love and bliss in thy sweet dreams; 



Dear heart, to me thy dreams belong - 
So dream of love's bewitching song, 
So dream of love's bewitching song."' 



Fain would she rise and show her face 

To one whose song, so full of grace 

And meaning too, has thrilled her heart; 

But 'twill not do, 'twere best to part 

Forever now than trust to one 

Who thinks a princess lightly won; 

So with a kiss, as light as air, 

Blown to the singer waiting there, 

She murmurs soft in sheer delight, 

"My Fool -my Prince -MY KING! goodnight. 



ON THE LAKE 



The crimson sun in glory sets 
At close of day. The soft wind frets 
And sweeps the lake in rippling waves, 
Reflecting back the brilliant rays 



In myriad diamond-sparkling plays. 
An island in the midst is seen 
Where flow'rs and willows gently lean 
Out o'er the water's glist'ning sheen. 
The birds now swiftly homeward fly 
Across the splendid western sky; 
And mingled with the glowing scene 
Are blue and gold, and shaded green. 
While yet the sun gleams from the West 
And wondrous nature's at its best, 
There falls upon the list'ning ear 
The sound of song - now far, now near. 



"Float gently o'er the sunset lake, 
Float gently on, float gently on. 
Past isle and wood, and willow'd brake, 
Float gently in the evening sun. 

"Float gently on, oh bark so fair, 
Float gently on, float gently on, 
Love's theme is in the glowing air, 
Float gently in the evening sun. 



"Float gently in the sunset glow, 
Float gently on, float gently on, 
Forever would we onward go, 
Float ever in the evening sun." 

The island's emerald fringes screen 
The singer with their depths of green; 
But fitful breezes softly waft 
In view at last a stately craft; 
A cloth of gold sweeps o'er the sides 
As on the rippling waves it glides, 
While in the bow with golden oar 
A boatman guides it from the shore; 
And low o'er all is spread a sail 
Of silken tissue - light and frail. 

Upon a blue and golden seat 
Reclines the Princess. At her feet 
The Fool, clad in the suit of stripes 
And hood with bells - the best of types 
Of what a fool should be, and more! 
For must the art of lover's lore 



Be added to the jester's store. 
Regally is the Princess dressed, 
For him she would appear her best — 
This strange yet most mysterious guest. 

As evening's glowing, crimson light 
Falls on the bark, an artist might 
Be glad to paint the deep'ning shades 
Ere crimson light to darkness fades. 
The Princess, deep in thought the while. 
At last looks down with sweetest smile 
And asks: "In thy homeland, tell me, 
O knight, be women fair to see? 
Do knights and princes living there 
E'er war for love and maidens fair? 
Dost have a king who kingly rules? 
Hast queen, and courtiers, and - fools ? 

He deeply thinks, with lower'd head. 
How much to say, how best 'tis said. 
He takes the lyre and tunes a string— 
Oft'times to chant, sometimes to sing, 
The story of a foreign king. 



THE STORY 



"Long years ago a king held sway 
0*er kingdoms vast— far, far away. 
The people loved this righteous king 
For his good deeds; they honored him 
His just decrees, and through the land 
Was joy and peace. His velvet hand 
Though soft was firm as his command. 



"The Castle Hall oft rang to song 
Or jest, or contest of the strong. 
The grander bouts — or tourneys' war- 
Were all the people ever saw 
Oi battle with its bloody spray; 
The petty spite, or lover's fray, 
The tourney swept them all away. 



'The heir of this great kingdom's throne 



Had reached his manhood — fully grown. 
Full many a maid with beauty's snare, 
And others still with minds as rare, 
And greater dames with rank and art 
Each sought to win the Prince's heart; 
Yet all in vain was beauty's power. 
It but enthralled him for an hour. 



"One niglit within the castle gate, 
A courier, from another state, 
Told of his king — whose greater fame 
Made others seem but small and tame; 
Of valiant deeds in some great war, 
Of hunt and chase, and border law. 
Of a princess, fairer than the sun, 
Whose hand no prince had ever won, - 
Until the waning shades of night 
Broke in on morning's wak'ning light. 



"The prince determined, then and there. 
To seek and win this princess fair; 
And for this purpose called a band 



Of loyal knights to his command, 

Then set him forth in beauty's quest 

In armored form with lance at rest. 

For many weary days they went 

Through wooded wilds — vast in extent — 

Rode over plains, climbed mountains high, 

At last they from those heights could spy 

The land they sought, were pleased 'twas nigh. 



"Late was the day the little band 
Came down into the stranger's land; 
They'd scarcely reached the level plain 
Ere from all sides fierce soldiers came 
And put the most of that small band 
To spear and death. One in command 
Did deign to say : ' 'Twould be in vain 
For outlaw knaves to e'en explain.' 
The prince was lost! If that was war, 
Where was the honor or the law?" 

The tale is told. 'Tis growing dark, 
And dim has grown the fairy bark. 



The Fool's fair face is strangely white 
Seen in the darkening shades of night. 
The Princess smiles and softly sighs: 
''Thou art that prince in fool's disguise,' 

End of Part Two 



Part Three 



THE BALL 



Now, in the spacious Castle Hall, 
Where guests attend the King's grand ball, 
And where is heard the merry sound 
Of song and jest, the courtiers round 
The Princess stand and wait their chance 
To lead with her the opening dance. 
The pillars white are richly twined 
With flowers of every hue which bind 
The silken streamers. Fountains play 
Their waters bright in feathery spray. 
And bowers green make hidden space 
For converse in a quiet place. 



The Princess stands in mute despair; 
The one she seeks is hidden where 
He cannot see her winning glance— 



Her wish he led her in the dance ; 
He leans beside a flower screen 
And sees not, though himself is seen. 
The thought that others have the right 
To dance with her in measuies light, 
So fills his heart with jealous pain 
That from his head and form he fain 
Would tear the stripes that make for him 
A lower role, when at the brim 
Fain would he drink of love's delight, 
And claim the dance by lover's right. 

He turns to see who wins the prize, 
And gazes straight into her eyes. 
She beckons him close to her side, 
And, with a courtesy low to hide 
Her blushes, takes him by the hand 
Past knights and lords and ladies grand. 

Is this intended as a jest? 

A fool! where only titled guest 

Had right to stand or lead the way 



In stately dance or measures gay. 

The guests fear this a grave mistake, 

But quietly their places take 

And watch the Fool, with coolest gaze, 

Who leads the Princess through the maze. 



The King laughs loud and deep, and long, 
(In truth his voice is big and strong) 
To see the Princess and the Fool! 
Do doubt she used him as a tool 
Some lords with ardent hearts to cool ; 
But little recked he of the right 
The Princess gave the Fool tonight. 



And now the dance is of the past, 

The Fool has found his ''place" at last; 

Upon the low steps of the throne 

He sits in silence all alone. 

But when the King calls for a song, 

He wakens chords both rich and long - 

And sings to her in that great throng. 



"O thou who art so bright a star, 
Who beamest from thy throne afar, 
Let thy bright Hght in glory shine 
O'er this fond heart - O star divine ! 



"O thou who, from thy starry throne, 
May deign to choose my love, alone. 
Let thy bright eyes like jewels shine 
O'er this fond heart - O star divine ! 



**0 thou who shinest from afar, 
Who art so glorious a star. 
Let our two souls responding shine 
Through mingled love - O star divine 



An instant's flash - as sunlight flies - 

Came from those bright and downcast eyes 

But 'tis enough now to inspire 

A war song for her kingly sire - 

The other might arouse his ire. 



THE SONG 



"A baron rode his milkwhite steed 

Far o'er the hills away; 
For he would help a maid in need, 

And must be there by day. 
So he rode him fast, and faster yet, 
The way with perils was sore beset, 
While from his lips this wild refrain 
Kept time to steed, as loud it rang, 
•Hi, ho, tra la de lay !' 

"So o'er the hill, and o'er the plain, 

He galloped his steed afar; 
Until the night was on the wane. 

The portals of day ajar. 
His brain and brawn were all afire, 
To gain the place of heart's desire; 
So what cared he for outlaws bold. 
He's filled with love and true as gold, 
'Hi, ho, tra la de lay !' 



"But hark! a call of shrillest sound - 

A horseman barred his way; 
A thrust of spear and on the ground 

The man before him lay. 
The steed dashed on, nor stay'd him not 
As sped he from the evil spot, 
There challenged back that wild refrain, 
As e'er it rang, and e'er again: 
'Hi, ho, tra la de lay!' 



"Again the call both loud and shrill 

Awoke the echoes round ; 
The air of moor, and sea, and hill, 

All trembled at the sound. 
But on he sped, nor stay'd him there; 
A knight must ever do and dare; 
So what cared he for outlaw's call, 
True love for him was one and all - 
'Hi, ho, tra la de lay!' 



"The rosy beams of morning came, 

The castle was in sight; 
The sun aglow and hills aflame 

Gave welcome to the knight. 
His love was deep and true and strong, 
A will was his to right a wrong; 
As sounds of war about him rang, 
He raised his spear and loudly sang: 
'Hi, ho, tra la de lay !' 

''There promptly gathered at his side 

A band both good and brave; 
No matter what the war betide, 

They're with him to the grave. 
So bold was he in times of strife. 
He cared for neither death nor life ; 
So as he sang the wild refrain, 
The men replied with might and main, 
'Hi, ho, tra la de lay !' 



'The baron led to check the raid, 
And fierce the fighting grew; 



For he was lighting for a maid, 
And they — they hardly knew; 
They Hked the war's bewild'ring fight, 
They loved the brave, courageous knight ; 
So when the day was but begun 
The war for love was ably won - 
'Hi, ho, tra la de lay!'" 



The swinging rhythm of the lay 

Scarce into silence dies away, 

Ere there is heard a trumpet's blast ; 

The King springs from his throne, aghast! 

The guests turn pale, the Princess faint, 

Each calls upon some favorite saint; 

A messenger shouts through the Hall, 

"A legion's just without the wall!" 

While King and guests make merry, Fate 

Has led an army to the gate. 



THE TRUCE 



On this same night, while in the Hall 

The King and guests enjoy the ball, 

The soldier guards relax their watch 

And sit or lie beneath an arch. 

The distant sound of revel comes 

But faintly— as of distant drums. 

The moon's pale beams the dark clouds hide, 

And leaves upon the night wind ride. 

And though the sound, not of the ball. 

Nor that of any night-bird call, 

But something more comes to the ear, 

That, mingled with the distant cheer 

Of song and dance, scarce causes fear 

Within the soldiers' breast. The light 

From lowering sky obscures the sight 

Of distant things. The castle lies 

Unguarded 'neath the clouded skies. 

And not until the legions wait 

Outside the castle's mighty gate, 



Did guard or yeoman really know 

What made the sounds on night winds blow. 



Now all is haste! for to and fro 

The soldiers rush for spear or bow; 

And on the castle's battlements — 

Where for awhile the elements 

Had had full sweep — the signs of war 

And preparations fiercely are 

In progress now, and where hot lead 

May soon be poured on foeman's head. 



A herald by the postern gate 

Holds up a flag — the truce of Fate! 

And now a parley must take place 

To know just why this foreign race 

Should come wnth every sign of war 

Up to the very gates. What law 

Or cause or any other right 

Had they to creep up through the night 

For hostile purpose? 'Twere as well 

Within the Castle Hall to tell 



The cause of this array. If one 
Before the mighty King will come 
His just decree he'll then proclaim 
Consistent with his well-known fame. 
The heralds bow, then quickly turn 
And thus the conference adjourn; 
Each goes to his respective place 
Aggression written on each face. 



End of Part Three 



Part Four 



THE EMPEROR 



An aged man, with noble face, 
Holds up his hand with kingly grace, 
And straight within the gateway he- 
Unmindful what his fate may be— 
Goes on heyond the mighty wall. 
On through the court to Castle Hall. 
A herald waits - he lists with awe 
The stern command: "An Emperor 
Is here for kingly conference," 
Bends low the knee and hastens hence. 



"An Emperor!" the herald cries; 
The King descends in mute surprise, 
Awaiting at the foot of throne 
A title higher than his own. 
And up the Hall in regal guise, 



The aged man, with flashing eyes, 
Comes on and stops - calm and serene. 
Stay ! When and why another scene 
Runs through the King's dazed mind just then 
He knows not; yet, somehow, 'twas when — 
Ah! 'Twas the Fool! He glances where 
The Fool may be, he still is there - 
There still in his accustomed place, 
With hood and bells drawn o'er his face. 



The Emperor's voice rings clear and strong 
To every ear in that great throng: 
"Sire, I'm not come to w^ar or strife; 
But one, far dearer than my life, 
I hear is held w^ithin these walls ; 
E'en now, mayhap, he vainly calls 
For help in his behalf. I'm come 
To have thee give me back my son!'' 

"Thy son? Thy son? What meanest thou? 
What's this thou askest me? I trow! 
Ye profer me a strange request. 



/ keep unknown as captive guest 

A prince? Ha! 'tis too good a jest - 

Jest -jest? captive?" The puzzled King 

Perplexed and dazed o'er this strange thing 

Turns round to face the fool, who sits 

In calm disdain, as one whose wits 

Seem to have flown ; but 'tis a ruse 

To hear what more the King may choose 

To say, and how' the aged sire 

May now accomplish his desire. 

"Aye, aye, my son! 'Tis no fool's jest 

Tm asking thee in my request. 

One of those knights, so good and brave, 

Whom thou didst wound, found not a grave 

Upon the field, but soon returned; 

Then all my soul within me burned 

At war where honor had no place - 

Such tactics were a sore disgrace!" 

The King stands mute and tries to see 
Just where the tangled thread may be; 



For in his mind a fool and lyre 
Seem strangely mixed with the Emperor's ire. 
Yet he would try to unwind a spool 
Whose thread seems twined about a fool. 



THE PRINXE 



The Emperor waits ; when on his sight 
A vision comes, almost too bright 
For mortal being, e'en though one 
A Princess be - bright as the sun. 
She stands in stately, graceful pose, 
Her fingers twined about a rose, 
And sometimes it does softly rest, 
Sometimes is crushed against her breast. 
He shades his eyes to shield his sight 
And gazes there — an old man's right — 
Then says: ''Oh I thou alluring one. 
Who winnest and leavest men undone, 
I pray thee tell, where is my son? 



"Where is my son who came in quest 
Of thy great beauty?"' He stops, lest 
She may turn away. Beaut}-'s spell 
Has cast its charm o'er him as well 
As though he were some younger man. 
Her low sweet voice like music ran 
Through his old veins as some rich wine. 
"Thou askest me where son of thine 
May be? iMayhap I could tell thee. 
I'm sorry, sire, "tis not for me 
To say." A downward glance - a smile - 
To where the Fool endures the while. 



"So thou, so beautiful, so fair, 

Wouldst see a father's keen despair, 

Couldst tell him how, and when, and where 

He'd find his only son ! 'Tis well ! 

I thought a woman's tongue would tell 

All she may know. To thee I bow." 

Then with sarcastic, courtly grace 

Chagrin and awe upon his face, 

So bends his knee. He turns him now 



To face the King — quite straight and cool. 
But all the King can think is : "Fool - 
Fool -FOOLl'^ His folly, too, is here 
And likely now to cost him dear. 
At last in desperation he 
In angry tones cries: ''Come to me. 
Thou Fool!" Quietly the Fool arose 
And, throwing off the jester's clothes, 
Majestic stands in his young might. 
A goodly prince - fair to the sight. 



"My son - my son!" the Emperor cries. 
"Aye, sire, I'm here," the Prince replies, 
And wonder round the great Hall flies. 
The King, amazed but anxious, stands, 
His robe of state grasped with both hands; 
But lighter is the kingly crown 
A moment since seemed weighted down. 



"ALL'S WELL" 



"Now," shouts the King when all is still, 
"Why this 'fool' trick? I take it ill! 
That thou hast played it more than well, 
*Tis not for me, alone, to tell. 
When I did ask thee in this Hall 
What thou wert called, a 'fool' - that's all 
Thou wouldst reply to me. Though I 
Didst threaten thee that thou shouldst die, 
Thou still repeated that reply." 

"Aye, true." The Prince before the King 
Now stands beside his sire. The ring 
Of his young voice, raised not in song 
Or jest, compels the listening throng. 
"Aye, while this heart in anguish beat 
O'er such strange ways of war, defeat 
Was doubly worse to me - I ! who came 
To woo and win. How would my name 
Appear when I in fallen glory stood? 
'Twere better far the stripes and hood. 



"A fool was I who thought to find 

As peaceful land as that behind 

Me lay. Aye, FOOL who shouldst have sent 

A courier with my intent 

That the way prepared might be, 

So / - a prince of high degree — 

Should be received. Thy blame? Nay, nay, 

O King! If such rules be thy way 

Of war, we must forget them on this day. 

The King, all smiles, stretched forth to clasp 
Their hands within his own strong grasp ; 
And then he calls the Princess down 
And roars, between a laugh and frown: 
"Thy skill seems greater than mine own 
In seeing that which should be known 
To me. Things that were strangely queer 
I'm seeing now. My vision's clear!" 



The Princess comes and blushing stands, 
The rose still held within her hands; 
Her robe of golden tissues meet 



In shimmering folds about her feet; 
From golden hair and matchless tliroat 
Great rays of light from jewels float; 
But greater far the light that flies 
From hidden depths of azure eyes. 



She sweet'ly smiles, then takes the rose 
And, with a kiss coquettish, throws 
It to the Prince, who, on one knee, 
Clasps both her hands. Adoringly 
He offers her a throne's high state, 
To share with him an Empire's fate. 
She bids him rise and proudly stands 
Beside her Prince, while holy bands - 
Commanded by each royal sire - 
Were now proclaimed by cassock'd friar. 
There by the royal Prince's side 
She is a fair and lovely bride. 



The Emperor sits upon the throne 
Beside the King. And this is done 



That all within the Hall may see 
The state of him whose son is he 
Who sought a maid, bright as the sun, 
Whose heart and hand he fairly won 
By song and verse, and lover's lore, 
In garden shade, and sunset shore, 
In Castle Hall, and moonlit dells, 
When still he wore the cap with bells. 
None but the Princess then could see 
That though a fool a prince was he. 



The heart is bound by love's fond rule 
The whole world o'er; and this the school 
That taught 

The Princess and The Fool. 



The End 




Squirrel Hill Printing Company 

Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania 
PUBLISHERS 



